


until blind

by Cancelpocalypse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier, and so that's pretty much this fic, clearly it's CF recruited Felix, done for 'defeat' prompt of dimilix week, i go absolutely insane for CF Felix in a downward spiral mirroring Dimitri, kind of based on Felix's death quote post TS, leonie swears a lot and im living for it shes a bad influence on Felix, please accept my first fe3h fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse
Summary: He hates the boar so much that he would be ready and willing to run him through: that's what he told Edelgard, when she doubted him. Hell, he already told the boar he would cut down anyone in his way, and he’s not one for dishonesty. But his grip on the hilt of his sword trembles.for dimilix week day 1: defeat
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Mercedes von Martritz/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	until blind

A meteor from Dorothea lights the way to the enemy's captain.

Falls short of the man himself, disrupts some of his guarding battalion.

Doesn’t matter. In the clouded gloom, rain spattering and then whipping down in turn, Felix now has his bearing. He’s already gotten clearance to engage the King of Faerghus – he's sparred with him the most, back in their academy days, the lush lull that was only a mask for the present storm. He’s tested the boar’s lance many times. Granted, Lysithea was supposed to be the one to take the shot on their principal foe this encounter, but surprise, she's busy dealing with the head of the church herself, across the river. And Edelgard's hands are full holding at bay the biggest demonic beast any of them have ever seen.

Dedue used some kind of corrupted stone to transform into that creature, that monster. But the one Felix will face shortly needs no such device.

The King of Faerghus is already a beast.

Felix, Linhardt and Caspar break from the main group holding the demonic beast's attention, their troops following. The battalion surrounding the boar is all he has for troops; his other guards and generals have been stripped away, trying to hold back the Adrestian forces and failing.

Felix locks on.

Linhardt wheels on his dark horse, sending fearsome elemental casts to enemies making pitiful attempts at striking back. Caspar is lost to sight in the melee, but you can hear his battle cries. The boar's troops are matched, but Felix's goal doesn't include bothering with these.

He cuts down a few (familiar with their weak points, too fast to absorb any hit) and goes straight for the beast himself.

No words. He closes in. The Faerghus King stands on a stone dais, but charges head on, his bone-clawed lance extended.

Rain pours; Felix's boots hit stone and as he's just within striking distance of the lance, he dodges a predicted swipe, sends a thoron that brightly rattles off the king's armor, barely singeing as he similarly sidesteps.

They both pause, Felix tense and ready to flex into action at a moment’s notice, the boar circling, seeming larger than himself in fur-heaped cape, red glowing lance.

“You betrayed your family, your friends,” the boar accuses Felix. It holds the undertone of snapping jaws, of growling in the night.

“I’ll cut down anyone in my way,” Felix yells back. He prepares thoron, energy starting to gather and form into a sigil at his hand. He can’t read the boar’s face clearly in the gloom and rain, but he can imagine it, wild and ready to spill blood.

“That’s what I needed to hear,” the boar says, almost exultantly, with some kind of laugh. He stops his slow circling and readies Areadbhar. “For the resolve to kill you.”

Felix makes as if releasing thoron, but doesn’t; the boar sways to one side, predicting the attack that didn’t come, but Felix is just a stride too far to gain a hit from the ploy. No matter. He blocks the boar’s rush with his lance – more like allows the blow to glance off his sword. The raw strength comes as a surprise and Felix releases thoron reflexively, stumbling to regain his balance; the sputter of lightning catches Dimitri’s arm and shoulder but does nothing more than hold him off for a half second.

The next several seconds feel like a minute as they trade blows, an urgent dance. Felix has to rely on outspeeding his enemy. That’s his best advantage. He manages to rip through the edge of the boar's cape, through the cladding of his upper arm, and draw blood. Feints away. Despite the adrenaline, his muscles are tired from hacking and slashing their way to this point. Meanwhile, the boar has been idly waiting.

A few more blows; Felix feinting and lunging as quick as he can, the boar with his pure strength and reach of lance seeking the moving target. The boar gets a clean hit on Felix's thigh. _Will need stitches if I make it out._ Once, their weapons meet, steel skidding along the ancient material of Areadbhar. Felix would cast thunder on him, but the frenzied pace of the sparring match doesn't afford him the mental space. The boar's managed to push Felix back to the mud again and at the most inopportune time his foot slips and Areadbhar catches just below his ribs. His enemy wastes no time, drives in; Felix’s senses all go haywire noise for a moment and he staggers off the lance's puncture. When his vision organizes itself again, he glances down; blood; glances up; the face he sees is the one of an animal, mad on death.

The wound is mortal. Too much blood. He doesn’t even have a minute left. He’s not even aware of the pain, only the feeling of _the end_ \-- Felix grips his sword tighter and – suddenly, his vision goes white, and the hair-raising rush of a healing spell charges through him. _Linhardt._ As his wound closes and the magic is consumed he gasps, steadying himself, looking out for his enemy once again. The boar's attention is momentarily diverted. Linhardt's riding in close to the enemy king and casts a messy ball of fire. It hits, but the boar rushes through the flame anyways and plunges the full reach of Areadbhar through the already damaged armor of the mage's mount. The horse cries, rearing, throwing its rider off as it falls.

The boar turns back to Felix; the fire on his cloak soon to be expired in the downpour. But Felix has already mustered thoron and casts with the renewed strength from Linhardt. Lightning crackles out from him and he rushes in behind it, more or less blind, with his sword, hoping to catch his enemy stunned.

It works, sort of. His sword pierces the boar's shoulder, but as he withdraws it for another strike, the boar knocks the weapon clean out of his hands with the bar of his lance. _Got to take that thing away_ _from him._ Felix grabs the lance and jerks it backwards (heavy as all hell) – his still-electrified enemy loses grip for a moment, but lunges after it. The lance is long; the boar catches the end with one gauntlet. Felix makes an attempt to twist it away but the boar latches on with the second gauntlet and pulls Felix in, heels of his boots dragging in the muddy slop of the battlefield. The rain pours and Areadbhar's dull red glow turns some droplets to a mad orange as they bounce off, and then Felix is almost nose to nose with the boar.

What will the boar do? Pin Felix and run him through? Gut him with his steel claws? Felix isn't about to go down that easily, even with his sword lying in the mud out of reach. He's taking this moment to call thunder, and there's hardly time. A sneer forming on the boar's wild face affords just enough.

Felix twists his grip on Areadbhar just as he summons arcs of electricity crackling to the wound he's made in the boar's shoulder. The mad king falls to the ground, shuddering. Two hands on Areadbhar, Felix drives its point through the boar into the dirt, using his full weight, pinning his enemy through the chest. The king cries out and struggles, contorts; Felix grabs for his sword in the mud and then drops to his knees, over the boar, further pinning him, resting his sword point close to the split he's scored in his breastplate.

They're close. Red marks from Felix's lightning cast mark the boar's exposed skin. In places, his armor is half-melted and surely there are blistering wounds beneath, courtesy of Linhardt's fire. Blood seeps from the mess of destroyed armor and flesh around Areadbhar, keeping its owner skewered to the ground. The boar’s wide eyes are looking past Felix, darting, pupils large, teeth clenched.

 _Do it now,_ Felix tells his muscles. But they won’t respond.

Is there really something in him yet that remains for Faerghus’ rightful king, long after all his hope and faith in the man has eroded? Surely nothing could overwhelm the acidic hatred he has for the monster that’s turned the king to a boar - but while Felix's mind gives the order, his heart and body refuse to drive the sword down. Felix's struggle to overturn his own refusal gives time for the boar's heavy panting start to calm. His movements still even as the battle clamour and beastly roars ring out from behind them. The boar's pupils start to shrink, his jaw relaxes. Felix stays frozen, watching. Until the king's eyes focus on his.

Felix blinks rain out of his eyes. He's not looking into the face of a wild animal anymore.

"Felix," Dimitri says. It sounds wondering, yet pained. 

Perhaps the dead have left him some brief respite. Perhaps they are preparing for his arrival. The boar is sleeping for the moment. Dimitri is awake.

Something in Felix is about to break. Maybe it has already. He hates the boar so much that he would be ready and willing to run him through: that's what he told Edelgard, when she doubted him. Hell, he already told the boar he would cut down anyone in his way, and he’s not one for dishonesty! . . . but he shakes his head. His grip on the hilt of his sword – it trembles briefly as he tries to will it downwards. What _is_ this? "I can't . . . kill you." The words barely make it out. Guess this makes him a liar. Just this once. 

But the Church of Seiros has not come to Dimitri's aid. His battalion is held in combat otherwise. The demonic beast that’s left, as impressive as it is, should be no match for Aymr. No; this is no hope for Faerghus' king. "I’m . . . already dead," Dimitri replies.

Felix knows this is true. At this point, better he dies now than when Edelgard gets to him. Felix tries again to lean his sword down, down into Dimitri's chest. Remembers his allegiance to the Empire. But he cannot. He cannot do it. A sickening roar mutes all other audio for a few moments; the death cry of the once-Dedue beast, behind them.

"I can't," Felix repeats. He's out, he's at his limit. He couldn't name what he's feeling right now, couldn't tell you where he is, who he is, only that _he can't do this._

"Felix . . . " Dimitri starts to say, and Felix tries to hold onto the words. "Although . . . in this life, I could not . . . have your hand," he continues, faint but still there, his eyes clear, rain speckling and gathering and running off his face, " at least. . ." and one clawed gauntlet slowly, surely, curls overtop Felix's gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, Felix frozen in place and shaking – "I can meet death" -- Dimitri's other gauntlet takes Felix's other hand from on his breastplate and lifts it to the pommel of his sword – ". . . by . . ."

Dimitri's grip tightens around Felix's hands, on his sword, and pulls. Sends the weapon deeper through the split of his armor. The way it gives to flesh sends some kind of shock all the way up through Felix's arms, his shoulders, down his spine, makes him feel suddenly weak. He's shaking, hands held there, eyes locked with Dimitri's, can't say anything, can't move as he watches –

Faerghus' king dies just as the red flags of the Empire wave their triumph over Rhea from the south, and the Empress with the others come ready to help from the east.

Dimitri is gone. The boar is gone. One, with the other.

Felix feels sick.

He wrests his hands out of the gauntlets' grip. He jerks back to his feet, the corpse suddenly abhorrent. He leaves his sword and Areadbhar upright amid the wreckage: the blue cape dirtied and bloodied, fur matted and just as irredeemable.

_Irredeemable._

That makes two of them now, doesn't it.

Felix, soul as raw and split as the wounds he’s left in Dimitri’s chest, turns his back and goes to see if Linhardt has survived.

***

Adrestia's Blade.

_~~The Shield of Faerghus~~. _

(You do get a bit of a reputation for bringing down the enemy king.)

Felix really does envy Sylvain. His oldest friend seems to have found a way to live, after the war. He's part of the efforts against TWSITD, yes, but he has his estate, and his other duties and pastimes.

Felix, on the other hand: if he drops his sword, he's sure his heart will stop.

He turns down the Empress' offer of one of her best battalions. There's not much to hacking down TWSITD compared to what he's had to do during the war. He'll go into battle with whatever troops and even friends assigned, but the second he sees his first target, he's a lone wolf. A flash of steel and red -- colours of Adrestia, unified Fodlan, now. Probably for the best, anyways. Leonie's pretty much the only person he'll fight back-to-back with, these days. Maybe it's 'cause she didn't know him, before the Empire won the war. Somehow made making friends easier.

Felix is now in the middle of spending several months in the south and east of Fodlan, without returning to Sylvain's estate. He is vaguely on an official assignment; for a few of those months, as he and Leonie spend equal time on TWSITD and Empire-Almyra business as they do drinking and doing dumb shit. 

***

Sadly, today is to be drudgery involving no fun of the _dumb shit_ kind.

It is Wednesday and Leonie and Felix are glorified letter carriers. Taking a correspondence from Edelgard herself to an Almyran official visiting in old Alliance territory. (Adrestia's Blade is supposed to say some nice words while they're there, too.) On the way they've been asked to go check in at a town where there's been reports of rebels. To get there, though, they have to go through the Eastern pass in the foothills of the Oghma mountains. The pass is generally well-traveled, not being too high or treacherous. However, the snowdrifts from last night must have deterred other travellers. Lack of company gave a rather impressive wolverine the nerve to appear, spook their horses. So they lost their mounts. The going is even more slow and lonely now.

The loneliness is alleviated quite suddenly by Felix's hissed warning of oncoming figures he's picked out in the white and grey landscape ahead. Rebels must have got wind of their approach, maybe by way of their horses. Leonie and Felix shed weight in the form of the packs they carry. She sets an arrow to her bowstring and he unsheaths his sword.

There's only time for Leonie to unleash three arrows and for Felix to sidestep two throwing axes before the group of rebels are on them. There are about 10 of them, and they don't look to be highly skilled or particularly well-armed, but Leonie and Felix are clearly outnumbered.

Nevertheless, they've fought together enough the strategy is wordlessly known: always stay moving, Felix in melee range, Leonie whipping arrow after arrow to slow the oncoming foe.

Footing, especially during a skirmish, is not favorable in the snow. But Felix was born a Faerghan, and the cold and white only brings familiarity to the battle. Two down, two more injured-- Felix and Leonie carve their path through the snowdrift, baiting and holding off the foe. It's going to be over soon.

Except it isn't, because suddenly, in the midst of the oncoming rebels, stands Felix's trophy.

The source of his fame.

The rightful king - the dead king.

It isn't the first time he's seen Dimitri, and he knows what's coming. A slicing pain goes through his head, spreading from behind his eyes into an intense and steady throb. He feels a yell of pain, of desperation scrape from his lungs, into the cold, as he launches himself forwards, to Dimitri, fixing his gaze on the new target.

Dimitri never lets him get too close.

Maybe this time?

For the next who-knows-how-long, he is only a body, fighting, learned motions, action-reaction, with a need to keep his eyes on-target. Heaving through the snow, blade into flesh, enemies only obstructions. Sometimes he strikes half- blind, craning to keep his eyes on his hopeful prize. There's noise, yelling, steel on steel, steel on flesh: it all blends, and he only has his own hard breathing and pounding heart in his ears.

Dimitri gets blurrier. Despite Felix's advance, the ghost is still too far away. Has he moved? _Stay, stay stay stay!!_ Felix forces his eyes to remain open, lest the vision slip away. Suddenly there are no more bodies opposing him. He sets himself to give chase to the figure that moves and yet doesn't. Blonde hair, blue cape, a gash in his chest weeping red.

"Felix! _Felix!!_ What the fuck!" Now there's a warm-colored figure in the edges of his blurry vision, but he can't be dissuaded from his target. He sloppily stagger-runs through the calf-high snow, arms swinging for momentum, after the smudgy black and blue man still several meters away. _STAY!_ He can tolerate the pain in his head as long as he's fixed on his target, on track to catch him.

"Felix!! Stop! _Get your ass back here!_ "

No. No, not a chance when he's so close -- close to being close to him -- and then Felix blinks, and when his eyes open again, there is only white and gray in front of him.

Simultaneously, the pain, the debilitating headache, crashes through his skull in full force. His body gives out, flow of instructions from the top halted momentarily. His senses are all but gone; the only identifiable sensation is in his eyes. They burn like hell.

When his own scream fades from his lungs and the fury in his head recedes to allow him some form of awareness, he finds himself keeled over in the snow. Instinctively he grabs handfuls of the cold stuff to press to his burning eyes. But then Leonie is skidding to her knees in front of him. She slaps his hands, clutching snow, away from his face.

"What the fuck!" She grabs Felix's furry collar and shakes him. He squints at her through the bleary pain of his vision. Her orange hair has come loose from its ponytail and she looks frantic, and pissed.

"My eyes, my fucking eyes," Felix manages, managing to push Leonie off him. He dunks his face in the snow.

After a few moments he realizes his face is going numb and the burning sensation is pain, not heat.

He sits up, wiping melting snow from his face. The burning pain is fading.

"Ok it's better," he says, turning to Leonie. She's staring at him like he's crazy. Maybe so.

"Him again," she says like a question.

Felix nods, winces as the movement stirs his fading headache momentarily. He notices his forearm is bleeding.

"Oh, shit," he says, pulls back the slit fabric, but it's not bad.

Leonie's already at his side to judge for herself, though. She looks at him furiously after a relieved glance. "You got lucky this time. You gotta give me warning when you're going to have one of these episodes! Fuck! You'll get us killed one day! How's it gonna sound if Adrestia's blade gets run through by some nameless rebel?"

"Not good, not good I know," Felix hisses, his skull still sore behind his eyes. He tries and finds he's got control of his legs again. Scrambles up to his feet, steadying himself apart from Leonie's grip. "Fuck, I'm not _trying_ to do this!"

"Well can you try to _stop_ doing it?"

Felix feels his face contort. He's angry, then helpless, then bitterly sad, then angry all over again.

How can he explain ... explain that whenever Dimitri appears, he has to chase him -- compelled to, he needs to touch him -- even if all reason says he's but a ghost, Felix needs to test this, it's all he has left, it's all he has! "Damn it! Yes . . . No! I don't know!" Felix yells at himself in frustration, grabs his sword from where it sits half-covered in snow. He's still breathing hard, struggling, the air is cold in the mountain pass. He does a 360, but no more Dimitri. Helpless, he sheaths his sword. Refocuses on his partner in arms. Leonie still looks angry. And . . . uncomfortable, disapproving?

"You need to try another healer," she comments, brushing the snow off her pants.

Felix groans. "If one couldn't fix it I doubt any can."

"... You do know he's dead, right? No matter what's . . . up in there." Leonie points a finger to the side of her head.

"Of course I fucking know he's dead, I -- he -- he died at _my_ hands," Felix says, and it turns snarling and mean and bitter. Why are they talking about this? Why can't Leonie just drop it? He's tired. Yeah, he'll admit it! He's tired, exhausted! He grips his head in his hands. "Listen, I know what's real and what's not! I'm still --" But he doesn't really know what he still is. Is he even still Felix? Without Dimitri? How sad, how terribly cruel, that it took the death of the man for Felix to ask these questions. Pointless to answer now. One thing's sure: fate's got them tied together, whether in life or death, and oh boy, would things be better if they were both in the same realm.

"You're still in the middle of the mountain pass with me," Leonie shakes her head and finishes his sentence. Tugs him by the cape back the way they came.

"Hey hey _hey_!" Felix swats her away as she pulls him into motion.

"If your head is on straight again, let's grab our supplies and get the hell out of this fucking snow before sunset." Felix doesn't say anything more for a moment, just falls into step beside her. Puts a hand on the cut to his forearm, even though the bleeding's slowed. They pass bodies, beginning to cool, snow sloughed and bloodied from combat.

"I need a drink or three," Felix mutters as they get back to their packs and each sling the baggage up over shoulders.

"You and me both," Leonie agrees.

She still seems frustrated as they continue on to their destination.

He can't blame her. Maybe things will get better. Better after a beer, anyways.

***

Yeah, alcohol helps in the moment, but the long-term starts to not look as rosy.

Once in a while, and then increasingly more often: Felix will see blonde hair, blue cape, through the ranks of the enemy. He'll cut through -- he _has_ to, and Leonie somehow puts up with it, and they somehow survive. But always, Dimitri's gone before Felix can touch him, to see if he's real or not.

Of course he's not.

'Course he's not fucking real.

But he keeps returning.

Almost enough to drive Felix mad.

Funny thought.

***

Slowly, tolerable things become terrible things. One particularly painful night doesn't go too well for Felix, and eventually he's run over how Sylvain will react too many times to bear imagining again. So he gives in and makes the ride back.

***

The initial reunion goes as he expected. Felix dismounts; even as the page takes his horse Sylvain approaches with a greeting smile on his face. This soon fades as Felix turns to face him. Shock blitzes across Sylvain's face. "Felix, your eye –"

Felix snarls. "Don't." Whoops. That was a bit sharp.

Sylvain backs off.

For a moment Felix feels faintly displaced from himself, as if _now_ is a crude echo of _then._ He's rather used to this by now. He bristles – an improvement in behavior.

"Hi, Sylvain," he manages.

Sylvain nods, seeming a little wary. "OK, so we're not talking about it. Alright, come on then."

The one who should get their dues for this continuing friendship is clearly Margrave Gautier.

***

Sylvain's estate is warm. Bright. Feels like it's truly his home.

Dorothea sings an aria from Annette's latest for them after supper. Felix honestly appreciates this, enjoys it.

As Sylvain shows him to his room for the night, Felix can feel the question hanging in the air about his eye. Dorothea had asked, of course, but Felix had gotten off easy by showing her how it didn't impair his function in the least and he was perfectly healthy. (Alright, it does impair him a bit, but he's learning to work around it.)

***

Overall, the visit goes well.

Felix will take what he can get: a surface-level kind of respite. And he truly is glad for Sylvain, and Dorothea. They've already got the baby's room half-decorated. Sylvain is a successful figure in the Empire, and strangely, seems to have become more humble with it. Busier, too, though, which makes sense. They did go riding once and to the theater once, but more and more, Sylvain's official business doesn't have Felix's name also on the list. Hand-in-hand with that fact: Felix doesn't see Sylvain on the battlefield as often, in their TWSITD deployments.

So their time ends. Felix gets a letter detailing where they need him next. He goes, he fights. Back to Enbarr to report to Edelgard.

Pretty much the only other estate Felix visits besides House Gautier and Enbarr is his own -- once in a while. Not that he's avoiding everyone; he covers most of his bases this way. Lysithea and her family live in Enbarr; Bernadetta is somehow part of Edelgard's troupe of advisors. Linhardt is head of some research institute there as well.

House Fraldarius has officially been absorbed into the domain of House Gautier. Edelgard's restructuring and renaming everything, of course, but people still call it House Gautier. Felix did get some say with the actual estate of his late father, though. He didn't have much use for the place so handed it over to Mercie and Byleth.

Only logical then, that of all the Black Eagles, original and recruited, Felix is probably the one who visits the orphanage the most. It's odd and strangely comforting to see all the life and new use that his childhood home has found. Sylvain has been a couple times, but Edelgard herself only sent a christening letter and hasn't set foot on the grounds. Things aren't exactly tense between Edelgard and her old professor, but after Rhea was defeated, something changed in Byleth. She'd expressed regret over the path Edelgard had chosen. The two are cordial, but no longer fast friends (and definitely not lovers, as was the wartime rumor).

Maybe that's why Felix is drawn. He doesn't blame anyone for not having regret, or otherwise dismissing or burying it. The Fodlan War is over, and there is no good reason to hold onto the past. Yet he can't bring himself to the levity that some of his friends and partners-in-arms seem to possess.

The kids do seem to help though.

He assists Byleth and Mercie through the bedtime routine and the three of them, tired as usual at the end of the day, reconvene in the kitchen just as the hired hands are finishing cleaning up. They chat for some moments before Byleth kisses her wife goodnight and says she's going to take a hot bath.

Felix watches her go. He can practically hear Sylvain smirk _so? You're not going to join her?_

Mercie just waits till Byleth has left. She turns back to Felix. "I don't know about you, but I need some fresh air." Felix nods and they make their way to the balcony. The streets of the town are still busy in the dusk light; busy in a peaceful way. Light is slipping down on the horizon. There the sky carries warm tones that fade to the blue of the evening above.

"You have a good life here," Felix says first as they lean on the balcony's wooden rail.

She smiles. "I do." Turns to look sidelong at Felix. "You're troubled."

Felix huffs a laugh. "Is it that -- obvious? I'm fine. As can be expected." He bites back an expletive. He does try to tone down his language around the kids, and Mercie. Blame Leonie. And maybe blame circumstance that gave him good reason to use such language.

"You know, if you want to tell anyone about your eye, it's probably best to tell a healer," Mercie says with a smile.

"Maybe later," Felix huffs, the mention of it seeming to bring a momentary ache to the right side of his head. "I have to ask you something first."

Mercie waits for his question.

"If you knew what the war was going to be like . . . would you still have followed Byleth to the Eagles?”

She seems to consider for a while. "I'm not quite sure I could have chosen anything else, to be completely honest. . . . Even if I had reason to."

"Hm," Felix says in an exhale. "Really."

Mercie nods. "I . . . question the path I took. Often. But I can't bring myself to regret it."

"You have Byleth," Felix says, a confident guess at the reasoning.

"Yes."

Felix shakes his head. "How could you have known that she'd _wake up_ after Rhea was defeated? For all you knew . . . she'd go on to be the head of the Adrestian military, at Edelgard's side."

"Of course I didn't know. But it doesn't change how I felt about her. I wanted to protect her. I felt compelled to."

"But she was so strange, at the monastery. You—"

"Oh, yes, she was the oddest duck!" Mercie laughs. "But even if I had no clue that her heart would start beating one day, I still saw that life in her at Garreg Mach. It wasn't obvious, but there was a glimmer . . . that's what I started to fall in love with. I wanted to see the glimmer grow brighter, with her."

 _Love._ Felix leans his head in his hands, propped on the balcony rail. "And if it didn't?"

"I guess that didn't really matter. I was compelled," Mercie says, with a happy shrug.

_Compelled; his sword runs through Dimitri's heart. Compelled; he cuts a path to the ghost who looks so much like him._

"You think you were meant to be, then?" Felix says, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"As much as any two people can be . . . I would think so, to have made it here." Mercie looks at Felix suddenly. "Why all these questions? Is there someone . . . " she trails off as if she might know.

"I couldn't stand it," Felix bursts, agitated, "that’s why I joined the Eagles with Sylvain, after you, I'd spent enough years around the boar hoping he'd – hoping Dimitri would _wake up_ too. I couldn't – I just – I hated having to – to be there and I couldn't do anything — it was too much, so I left." He takes a sharp breath in. "I should have stayed. Then at least we would both be dead."

Mercie doesn't say anything for a moment, but Felix feels her standing quietly beside him.

"Would you really rather have perished in the war?" she says at last, softly.

"I –" Felix starts, gripping the rail, he can't look at her, "I don't see any better way to put me out of my fuc-- my misery." He finally looks at Mercie. His good eye is stinging, promise of that burning pain he knows too well; his bad eye is threatening a stabbing ache again. "I know I'm not a good person, Mercie. I've done a lot of shit that I can’t ever fix. Even now, I –" He starts to turn away. "You know, I should go, what did you do to deserve hearing all this."

"No, Felix," Mercie says, catching him with a hand on his shoulder, "tell me what you can. Please. We're all better off if we can talk about these things with someone."

But Felix doesn't really hear this. He's looking to the arched exit from the balcony, past which is the hall going to the choir room and the kitchen, he well knows. The last faint light of day makes the polished wood floor gleam to a certain distance past the entry.

And there _he_ is. Standing in the doorway.

Felix stares. He's relatively close, compared to their other almost-encounters. And he's appeared in the calm of the evening. Unusual. 

Still, Dimitri is always dressed in his battle armor, black, the vivid blue star on one breastplate, and a deep red slash running near down the middle, weeping. It's not clearly defined where he stops and where the real world starts; the grave clings to his edges. Where Felix's right eye used to be sends a stabbing pain into his skull, ache spreading from point of impact. To be expected.

"Felix?"

He vaguely feels Mercie's grip tighten on his shoulder but he can't tear his gaze away. He wants to run to him but -- but he's too _real_ this time, and Felix is too afraid. The world's been more flat since Felix gave up an eye, but by whatever black magic, when Dimitri appears, he's made out in perfect depth. Only makes him look more out of place – or more a vestige of the past. Dimitri, standing, bleeding, takes no action: a taunt, a gift, a reminder? – who knows why he visits Felix, who knows what the purpose is. Felix's stomach turns as blood runs down Dimitri's armor, fluid shining just as black steel – the pain in Felix's head feels like a slow gash, slicing – and he can't help it, he takes a step towards the disappointment he knows is coming --

"Felix!"

Mercie forcefully yanks Felix around to face her. Blue eyes, wisps of blonde hair from underneath her headdress. Felix tries to focus on her, ignore where Dimitri might still be, but he quickly loses that battle of will. He glances back – but of course Dimitri's gone, and his right eye socket screams with the vision's exit.

Felix doubles over, clutching his head. " _Augh_ —!" Mercie helps catch him as he staggers. The intensity of the pain dissipates into a head-blanketing fog. His good eye burns. He's only just aware of Mercie looking through the arch to see what it was that held Felix's attention (of course, nothing anymore). Then she's back to sitting beside him, brushing loose hair out of his face. "Let me see," she says firmly, and makes to pull the strip of dark blue fabric down. She's quick but he also lets her do it, breathing through the pain as it fades, squinting with the good eye. Burning sensation decreases to stinging.

Her face puckers a bit. "Well, perhaps the scar may improve over time, but I would call that well-healed," she says. "What was there?" She glances back through the archway suspiciously.

Felix shakes his head. Chews words for a moment, looking for an answer, still catching his breath. "Him," he says. He can't bring himself to say the name. "Always hurts when he . . . comes around."

Mercie frowns at him. "You're hallucinating," she says, more of a statement than a question.

"Unfortunately, still," Felix says. "Leonie stopped me before I got the left one, too,” he mutters, pulling the fabric back up over the right eye socket.

" _Oh_ ," Mercie says after a pause, understanding who took his eye. _Yeah._ _If only it had fucking helped_. "Felix . . . you're not well."

"Only sometimes. I can still wield a sword," he grimaces. It's true, though. Sometimes, he's really bad, completely out of it. Sometimes, he's OK. He used to be OK a lot more often, though. Decline might be slow enough he won't notice till the end.

Mercie shakes her head, apparently unsatisfied. "Does anyone else know about this? Have you seen any healers?"

"Leonie knows. I don't know, he just started showing up . . . after we won. I saw a couple healers, tried herbs and stuff. Didn't work. I don't think there's any remedy."

"At least you could let us try. Byleth can look after things herself for a few days, we can go to the Institute and consult Linhardt –"

"Ha, I'm sure _coddling_ me will take care of it all," Felix says, bitterness rising.

"Felix, sometimes you need to just let people take care of you," Mercie argues. "It's not coddling –"

"And didn't _that_ work out well for Dimitri," Felix scoffs, probably too loudly. "Dedue's teas, prescribing sleep . . . . Everyone always praising him, always so polite to the boar prince –"

"If you're going to bring that up, you know quite well that we didn't know he was so troubled until it was too late."

"'We'? Who's _we_ ? His entire family died, and he watched. The thought didn't cross anyone's mind that he wouldn't be well after that?! No, no, they all _assumed_ he was fine, just give it a couple years," Felix almost spits. "As if he could just let that go!"

Mercie looks down at the floor. "Every one of the Lions left knows you were right about him, Felix," she sighs. "But we can't truly help someone unless they let us in." She gives him a long look.

Yeah, he gets her meaning. He doesn't have anything to say in retort. Maybe he doesn't want any help. Tsch, he's the boar's second life, isn't he? Is this what Dimitri felt? What he suffered through? With his ghosts, his voices?

"At least Byleth and I have known you weren't fine ever since . . . you had to kill him. But, it's really your choice. If you want to try to get better, accept our help. I can't guarantee any success. But you would know that everything takes effort, and everything is a risk, Felix." Mercie rests a hand on his knee.

Her hand is too hot. He doesn't like people touching him a lot, tolerance lower than ever. "Maybe I asked you the wrong question. What if . . . what if you ended up against Byleth. What if you met her in battle, and you knew you had the best chance of putting an end to the conflict. And if you stopped just before a mortal wound. Found yourself too weak." Felix lifts Mercie's staying hand. "And you realized you were always meant to be. Destined. Compelled. And just how wrong everything was, and he took your hand and your sword and made you – end it." Felix chokes.

He lets Mercie's hand go. There's no answer needed. 

"I – I've had enough fresh air." He gets up. Heads through the archway. Past where Dimitri had been minutes ago. The world's flat, half-dim, but he can still fight.

Mercie calls after him: "So Adrestia's Blade continues to cut down Edelgard's enemies until . . .?"

He doesn't give her an answer. He goes. He is too tired.

But the answer is this: _until he can't see his sword._

_Until he can't see Dimitri._

_Until_ _he can't see anything at all._

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SM FOR READING AAAAAAAAAA  
> i have 3 more fics for dimilix week so yeah expect MORE trash from the brain and hands of yours truly


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